


Life's a Beach

by theskywasblue



Category: Inception
Genre: Beaches, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:33:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Consider this me saving you from yourself"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's a Beach

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://kansouame.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kansouame**](http://kansouame.dreamwidth.org/). And let that be all that is said on the matter.

Arthur woke to an empty house, to sunlight and the sound of the beach and the usual low-grade headache that always followed his first real sleep after a heavy dose of Somnacin. He was wrapped up in the bed sheets and the suit he had worn on the job, the pants splattered hopelessly with wine from a knocked-over bottle and crusted with salt around the cuffs. He kicked them off and pulled on a pair of jeans instead, kept with his vest and shirt, had already abandoned the tie.

He thought maybe he was alone, that the rest of the team had left, scattering to the four corners of the world after a job not so much well done as accomplished; but no - Ariadne's schoolwork was on the coffee table, papers everywhere, books on the history of architecture propped open with empty beer bottles; and Yusuf's kit was by the door. Arthur remembered talk of shopping, Ariadne coveting the brightly-coloured, ridiculous dresses in the tiny, family-run boutiques. On the table were a pair of sunglasses and a pack of Eames’ cigarettes. Cobb was the only one missing, no doubt having hopped a plane in the early hours of the morning to get back to the children.

Not for the first time, Arthur felt jealous of Cobb – a man of two worlds – even when the jobs were shitty and didn’t go the way anyone planned, he always had that other world to go back to, that other life while Arthur had his headaches and wine stains on his pants. Unlike Ariadne, he couldn’t play tourist or go back to school; and unlike Yusuf, he didn’t have the luxury of good chemicals.

And unlike Eames...well, there was no one in the world like Eames, so the comparison didn’t matter. He was on the beach, lounging on a borrowed towel in a pair of white swim shorts. Arthur watched him through the sliding door for a while, then put on his jacket, slipped a cigarette from the open pack between his lips, and walked barefoot out onto the beach.

“I thought you had a six am flight.”

Eames grinned up at him, squinting into the sun, “But it seemed such a shame to leave without one last day on the beach. I think The Dominican agrees with me.”

Arthur couldn’t argue the point – Eames was tanned, sand-dusted, and Arthur could see the damp ridges of his hips above the waistband of his shorts like a promise. He sat down in the sand, stretching his legs out as far as they could go and leaning back on his elbows, grateful that the sunglasses kept the light out of his eyes. The wind off the ocean was one part salt, one part vegetable rot, and did nothing to ease his headache. "I thought you had a job lined up."

"I did. Do. But no point in arriving eight days ahead of everyone else on the team, is there?" Eames reached over and nicked the cigarette from between Arthur's lips, sliding it between his own. "I thought you quit."

Arthur scowled at him, but couldn't be bothered to try and snatch it back. Eames was right, anyhow. "I did. Mostly. Special circumstance."

"Consider this me saving you from yourself, then." Eames looked down at himself, then back up at Arthur, "Did you bring my lighter?"

Arthur couldn't help but laugh, "No, actually, I didn't think of it. My lighter's in my other pants."

Eames clucked his tongue despairingly, taking the cigarette and tucking it behind his ear instead, "I guess we're both saved, then. I don't suppose Ariadne will run mine out to me if I shout loudly enough."

"Not likely," Arthur dug both his heels into the sand and thought about going back to the house for the lighter. If he did, Eames would probably let him have a drag or two – or at least shotgun a good lungful, but it didn't seem worth the effort. After all, he _was_ trying to quit. "I think she and Yusuf went shopping."

"Brave man," Eames hummed. After a moment, he turned his gaze away from the ocean and locked it on Arthur. Arthur could feel it burning into the side of his neck. "And Cobb left this morning?"

Something – anticipation, probably – trickled down Arthur's spine like a hot bead of sweat, "Must have."

"So the house is empty." Eames' voice went a little rough around the words.

"Yeah."

Arthur started counting to ten. He hit two before Eames said, "Fancy a quick shag, then?"

Some day, Arthur would figure out what this thing was between them – where they were one part grade-schoolers pulling each other's pigtails and one part old married couple; where sometimes they would go for months and only see each other when their jobs intersected, and then sometimes they would meet up on a whim, only to spend whole weeks together and barely get out of bed – but until that day came...

"Yeah, why not?"

Arthur was first on his feet, Eames slowed by having to stop and pick up the towel before giving chase with it flapping behind him like a victory flag. Arthur stumbled in the sand when he tried to get his jacket off pre-emptively and it caught against his shoulders, affording Eames the chance to catch him by the wrist, reeling him in and biting at his mouth.

"You never were that hard to get, you know. You like to pretend, but it's not true."

"Fuck you, I was," the words had no force, nowhere to go, trapped between them. Eames' grin was dazzling at such close proximity, like staring into the sun. Arthur's glasses didn't save him at all. "I still am."

Eames kissed him into silence – his lips were sun-chapped and when Arthur cupped the back of his head, his close-cropped hair was still wet from the ocean. “You just keep believing that.”

Eames’ fingers made quick work of the buttons on Arthur’s vest and shirt, until Arthur stepped back and turned to grab the screen door, dragging it open and trailing sand into the kitchen. Eames threw his towel over the chair, scattering fine particles of sand all over the floor. Arthur grabbed him by the front of his shorts and hauled him forward, licking into his mouth, steering them both back towards the bedroom. He shed his shirt, vest and jacket on the carpet, dropped his sunglasses on the bedside table, and then reached for the cigarette, still stuck behind Eames’ ear.

“For later,” he said, dropping it next to the sunglasses.

“We’ll see about that,” Eames dragged down Arthur’s zipper, got a hand inside, and breathed in sharply at the unexpected touch of skin against his fingers, “Commando, darling – really? That’s rather wicked.”

Arthur gave Eames’ still-wet trunks a hard yank, and they dropped down, pooling around his sandy feet. When he wrapped his hand around Eames’ erection, Eames groaned shamelessly and thrust into his fist.

“Ah – Bloody Hell, Arthur – have I told you how much I missed this?”

Arthur dragged his thumb across the wet head of Eames’ cock, toyed with the foreskin until he shivered and bit his lip, tipping his head back. “My hand on your cock – is that what you miss?”

“Among other things.”

Arthur lifted his hand from Eames’ cock, planted his palms on Eames’ shoulders, and shoved him back onto the bed. Eames yelped, but tumbled easily, bouncing twice on the ample mattress before pushing up on his elbows.

“Don’t go soft on me, Mr. Eames.”

Both Eames’ eyebrows climbed towards his hairline. He looked torn between laughing and gaping wordlessly as Arthur stripped off his jeans.

“Do I look soft to you?” Eames asked, finally, his face splitting in a lewd grin.

Arthur straddled his thighs, hands on Eames’ shoulders for the leverage, and got his hand around both of them, rocking his hips forward so that the skin slid together and pleasure pin-balled up his spine, a wash of endorphins obliterating the last threads of the headache at the base of his skull. Eames craned up to kiss him, just brushes of lips, stupidly sweet, muttering encouragement and his idiotic endearments. Arthur was ready to tell him to stop, until Eames’ hand joined his around their cocks, increasing the pressure, turning it into something that curled Arthur’s toes. Arthur dropped his head forward, squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to focus on breathing, his heartbeat stuttering every time he dragged his hips back. Then Eames leaned in closer, pressed his lips to the pulse in Arthur’s neck, and Arthur came with a broken gasp, spattering Eames’ tanned abs.

He held himself up, though every muscle in his back felt loose and barely capable, so he could watch while Eames slouched back onto the bed and worked his own orgasm out with three slow, messy strokes. Arthur rolled off onto the bed, ignoring the fact that he was probably bringing half the beach with him off his feet. He wouldn’t have to sleep in the bed again, anyhow. They lay side by side, catching their almost-matched breaths.

After a moment, Eames sat up and retrieved his cigarette, only to collapse back to the bed, chuckling tiredly. “My lighter is still in the kitchen.”

Arthur kicked out one leg, casting it over Eames’ thigh. It wouldn’t hold him down, if he really wanted to go, but that wasn’t the point. “Consider this me saving you from yourself.”

“I have always been able to count on you,” Eames agreed, sounding a little bit mystified, and Arthur found himself laughing, stunned.

Eames turned and looked at him, brow furrowed, cigarette still between his lips, “What?”

“Epiphany?” Arthur suggested, taking the cigarette and flicking it clear across the room.

“A good tumble will do that,” Eames nodded, stretching himself towards Arthur for what he clearly hoped would be a kiss. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Yeah,” Arthur gave him his kiss, because well, why not? “I know.”

-End-


End file.
